The Sovereign Bloodletter
by Tobuscus
Summary: If Marjolaine's purpose had been different and hired a more highly-trained assassin to kill Leliana, the events that followed would have turned out differently. *I've abandoned this project, so a big apology to the readers who were waiting*
1. Prologue

The Sovereign Bloodletter

A Dragon Age: Origins Fan Fiction

By AvaSlayer a.k.a -AvA-

Prologue

His footsteps were light on the stone streets of Denerim, moving quickly but quietly through the Fereldan capital. A black hood covered most of his facial features and he would be surprised if anyone here recognised him for Fereldans knew little, or mostly do not care, about their neighbouring nation's most wanted assassins. Sure, some might have heard about the Antivan Crows, the mythical status of their assassins and the fear their strike into the hearts of common folk, but to other orders of Assassins, the Crows are just a group of cocky, attention-seeking imbeciles. One can only be called an Assassin if no one knows anything about you, only how skilled you are. We are a mere flicker in the darkness and our strikes are hidden, but deadly and fatal, were the words his master once told him.

From the folds of his cloak, he withdrew a piece of paper. On it was the address of his next client, a wealthy Orlesian lady if his source was to be trusted. He looked up to the door in front of him, squinting to read the faint numbering on the wooden panel. He smiled, this was the house. Reaching for the door knob, he turned it and entered.

Two chevaliers in heavy grey armour stood on guard, one with a greatsword strapped to the back while the other had a shield and longsword. The fingers of his right hand were already around the grip of one of his daggers concealed under his cloak, a habit that saved his life on a few occasions. One of the chevaliers came forward, a helm hiding the entire of his face and spoke in a deep, male voice. "Are you the mercenary Madame Marjolaine hired?"

He gave the paper containing the address to the asking chevalier, and grinned at him. "An assassin, not a mercenary. Keep that in mind when you ask another of my kin, or someone might find your body at the bottom of the waterless well."

If the chevalier was offended, he did not show it. Stepping out the way, he allowed the assassin pass the door into a room which served both as a living and dining area. A kettle hung over the fire, boiling whatever liquid it contained. To his right was a small circular table surrounded by wooden chairs and sitting in one of them was a women, brown-haired and dressed in lavishly expensive clothing. At the end of the room were two closed doors, one on either side.

"Please have a sit, my guest," the women said, her voice heavy with accent.

"I prefer to stand. Marjolaine, I presumed?"

She nodded and stood, her eyes studying him intently. "I am told you are the best in all of Thedas, so I am right to expect your service to be fast and effective."

The assassin's lips curled into a grin. "With the correct amount of gold, of course."

"Is one hundred sovereigns enough for your liking?"

"That depends on who I am hunting. The price increases with the level of danger"

Marjolaine paused, contemplating how much information to reveal. "A travelling bard, a little redhead girl."

"Travelling alone or in a group?"

"A group of five, four humans and a qunari. Deal with the others as you please"

His brow lifted in interest, unseen under the darkness of his hood. But his voice betrayed his curiosity. "A qunari? Intriguing, and what about mages?"

"As far as I know, only one. An apostate."

The assassin's grin broaden. "Magic with the possibility of facing blood magic. This is going to cost you more, my lady."

"How much more?" asked Marjolaine, her expression passive.

"I think five hundred sovereigns would do the trick."

Marjolaine smiled, and snapped her fingers. A chevalier appeared behind him, holding up a bag full of golden coins. The chevalier dropped it into his hands, the weight of the bag caught him by surprised.

Marjolaine returned to her chair and took a careful sip from a teacup he could not remember being there when he entered. "Do not disappoint me, assassin. You will regret it."

He opened his mouth, but thought it was better to remain silent. He would let his actions do the talking for him. Turning towards the door, he passed the two on-guard chevaliers and out into the dam and cold Fereldan weather.

"Kill the little redhead girl, deal with the others as you please," he said to himself, reminding him of the mission's objective.


	2. Chapter 1  The Ambush

Chapter 1 - The Ambush

It took him weeks to track down his target but after bribing the correct persons and eavesdropping on a few gossipers, he got some useful information. Apparently there was a reason his target was travelling with such a diverse group of people. She was travelling with Grey Wardens.

If he was to believe the tales of old, the Grey Wardens will make his mission all the more difficult. 'Skilled warriors and heroes of justice' as were the words sung by the bards, detailing each and every one of their triumph against the Darkspawn and conquering all four previous Blights. However, news from the South somewhat tarnished their reputation. King Cailan, the king of Ferelden, and his army had fallen in combat fighting with the Grey Wardens against the uprising Darkspawn in the ruins of Ostagar, which prompted many to claim that the fifth Blight has come to Fereldan. The only known survivors were Teyrn Loghain and his battalion, along with two Grey Wardens if the rumours were correct. Immediately after the teyrn had returned to Denerim, he announced that the Grey Wardens were responsible for King Cailan's death and branded them traitors of the nation.

Downing the last few drops of ale, he placed his mug on the table and observed the tavern's murky surroundings. He was the only one here, excluding the bartender and his wive, both whom were eyeing him with suspicious eyes. With a sack full of belongings on his back, the bartender approached him.

"Sorry to disturb, my good man, but my wife and I are leaving town. I'd advised you do the same," the bartender said.

He crocked a curious brow. "The darkspawn are coming, isn't it?"

"Uhm, yes. Haven't you heard?"

He did not immediately responded to the question. "Just go, do not worry about me. I will be fine."

The bartender was not convinced, but respected his wish. Light washed into the tavern as the his wife opened the door, carrying boxes of goods and loading it on their donkey-strapped wagon. Before following his wife out into sunny Lothering afternoon, the bartender asked, "What is your name, young man."

"Why do you want to know?"

The bartender chuckled. "I would like to know the name of my last customer in this tavern, before the darkspawn burn it down to a pile of ashes."

He thought about it and saw no harm of telling the ageing bartender. "Vyral. My name is Vyral," he answered. His lips felt weird at the pronunciation of a name he had long since used. The bartender thanked him and closed the door behind him, sending the tavern back to its dimly lit condition. Vyral allowed his mind to empty, then focused his concentration on the planning he had to do.

From his cloak, he unfolded a map of Fereldan and spread it across the table. His index finger gently tapped square representing Redcliff and moved his finger along the routes and roads which encircled Lake Calenhad. According to the information he had gathered, his target was currently at Redcliff but that information would at least be a week old. He also found out that the Arl of Redcliff was seriously ill and that the Grey Wardens were travelling to the Tower, asking help from the Circle of Magi.

Vyral made some calculations and estimations, circling and crossing out roads with the tip of his finger. Finally, his face lifted from the map, a grin forming on his face. If he was lucky, the Wardens would take the road heading east from Redcliff and then turn northwards towards the Tower. One specific spot in a forest on Lake Calenhad's eastern shore was perfect for an ambush, a narrow pathway flanked by a fast-flowing river and a steep rise of land. His target would have to go through that area and it would give him the perfect chance to strike.

Folding the map into his pocket, he got up from the stool and made for the door. He had to make haste because this was a golden opportunity he could not afford to miss.

Vyral lay low on the edge of the cliff, shortbow in hand and eyes fixed on the narrow pathway on the other side of the river. The pathway was slightly uphill and curved away from a waterfall and towards the cliff where Vyral was located, wooden planks serving as a bridge across the water. If he missed his arrow, Vyral still had a chance at knifepoint, but with a company of Grey Wardens, a qunari and an apostate, he would rather avoid such a confrontation. Vyral also took the initiative to hire a group of mercenaries; a qunari warrior, a bandit with his mabari and a rogue mage, placing them near the waterfall. Licking his lips in anticipation, he waited for his prey to show up.

And she did, moments later. Leading the group were a pair of men in heavy armour, one with short brown hair while the other had long, blonde hair pulled behind his ears also similar to Vyral's, except his was coloured dark brown, almost black. Behind them was a male qunari, big and menacing even from Vyral's point of view. A witch stood next to him, dressed in folds of cloth that revealed most of her cleavage and back, while carrying a staff in her weapon hand. At the rear end was his target, a female human with red hair covering both her ears, the tips falling just over her jawline while her front hair swept mostly to her right, covering her forehead and one of her blue eyes.

The mercenaries saw them approaching and lunged at them, weapons drawn high. Now was the time. Pulling an arrow out from his quiver, he notched it and took aim. The bard moved fast, making it difficult for Vyral to release a shot. He held his breath, allowing the air to slowly rush out from the corner of his mouth. Vyral had to be patient, one misfire was all it took and his location would be discovered. Unfortunately, the mercenaries were not putting up a fight Vyral thought they were capable off. The bandit's body was already downstream, carried by the river's torrent while the qunari only had a moment to see the tip of the blade driven through his head by his fellow qunari. The mage was quickly overpowered by the apostate, and now stood frozen with a shock expression.

The bard had finally stopped moving, sheathing her blades thinking the battle was over. Vyral smiled, and released his arrow.

The crackling feeling of magic hissed through the air, and his arrow stopped a few inches from the bard's face before dropping to the ground, shattering into a million pieces of ice. Vyral cursed, throwing his body on the ground but it was too late, they already knew where he was. He controlled his breathing, calming himself and drew his Dar'Misan, a curving sword of elven forging, and the smaller blade Dar'Misu. He saw someone running uphill towards him, sword and shield in hand. Shifting into a crouching stands, he moved forward, waiting for the person to show himself and jumped.

Everything when by like a blur, and stopped when an armoured boot smashed into his face, his nose bleeding and possibly broken. Vyral landed heavily on his back, his eyes closed and filled with tears. The pain spread across his face and a throbbing headache followed. He silently uttered a curse and tried to get up, but was shoved back to the ground by a boot to his chest.

Vyral opened his eyes and saw a man, his face a silhouette on his shiny armour. Vyral's breath was heavy and he could taste the blood on his mouth, a salty and warm mixture. The armoured man raised his sword, ready to deliver the killing blow. So this is how I die, Vyral thought. Killed in a failed assassination, how...tacky.

"Wait," a feminine voice ordered, Vyral could not see who the voice belonged to.

"This man tried to kill you. He deserves no mercy," argued the man with the sword.

"Aedan, please." Sighing, the man lifted his foot from Vyral's chest. The red-haired woman appeared above him, kneeling beside Vyral with a piece of cloth. Carefully and to Vyral's surprise, she took his hand and pressed the cloth of his nose, stopping the blood from flowing. "These men are not common bandits. Their weapons and armour are of fine-made. You know what I'm talking about do you," she continued, directing the last sentence to Vyral.

She helped Vyral into a sitting position, his hand still pressing the cloth on his nose. "Fine, information for your life then," Vyral heard the man named Aedan grumbled.

All eyes were on Vyral and he inhaled deeply before speaking. "I was hired, to kill the redhead girl and deal with others as I pleased."

The witch snorted. "That turned out well."

"Here," Vyral added as he fished a piece of paper from his cloak. He had written down the client's address on another piece of paper, incase he lost the other. "This is the address of the person who wanted you silenced."

Aedan took the paper from him, reading it. "It's an address in Denerim."

"It must be Marjolaine," the redhead said, her tone of voice both confident and worried.

Vyral's nose had stopped bleeding. He tossed the cloth onto the grass and got up, his feet wobbling slightly. "So, am I free to go?" he asked.

Aedan looked at him, his eyes already betrayed his intend. "I'm sorry, but people like you don't deserve to live." Reaching for his dagger, Aedan slashed towards Vyral's throat.

The bard cried her protest, but Aedan was already in mid-swing. Adrenaline pumped through Vyral's bloodstream and his trained reflexes took over. Moving in the same direction as the arcing dagger, Vyral grabbed Aedan's wrist and moved his body under his attacker's arm, twisting it behind the man's back. Vyral tore the dagger from the man's fingers and held it to his neck.

Aedan struggled, but Vyral did not let go, his will to live giving him more strength than he possibly had. The others looked on, shocked. His opportunities were limited, and the only conclusion Vyral saw was killing this man and his companions would kill him. There still was no escape for him, so he might as well take the life of the man who broke his nose.

But his gaze fell upon his original target, the redhead bard. There was something in her eyes, begging him not to do it. He shook his head, trying to drive out the rising doubts within him.

A fatal mistake.

In his distraction, he did not see the witch raising her staff, muttering words of magic and creating a blast of air which exploded between him and his hostage. Vyral was sent flying, hitting his head against a boulder and fell unconscious.


	3. Chapter 2 Night at Camp

Chapter 2 - Night at Camp

A dark abyss, pulling. A warm fire, flickering far and beyond him. A dull pain, uncomfortable but bearable. Voices, a man and woman, arguing in low voices outside. The darkness meant night had fallen, and the crickets were singing. Slowly, Vyral became more conscious.

"He is an assassin. He will bring us nothing but trouble."

"He is a human as well. Nobody deserves to be eaten alive by the wolves, even assassins."

Vyral's eyes remained closed, but his mind was awake. His ears strained to pick up every word of the conversation happening outside of the tent.

The man sighed. "Leliana, what do you hope to accomplish by treating him?"

"Nothing. Is it so horrible to save someone's life until you assumed I have ulterior motive?" she responded. "No, I don't want to hear any more of your protests, Aedan. Good night."

Vyral heard the tent flaps flapping, but kept his eyes shut. He sensed movement above him and a soft splashing of dripping water. A damp cloth ran across his forehead, gentle and wet. Long feminine fingers touched his cheek and went down to his neck, towards the collarbone. The fingers stopped abruptly, as if finding something interesting. Slowly, the blanket on his chest was lifted and the fingers lingered on the gashing scar on his right chest, inspective and curious.

Leliana yelped, startled as Vyral's hand gripped her wrist. Vyral breathed heavily, his eyes fixed on the roof of the tent. Leliana pulled, but Vyral did not released his grip.

"Please, let go," she whispered.

A plead, but not out of fear. Vyral turned towards her, studying her and tried to determine her motive. Leliana kept her expression unreadable, but there was something about her eyes that told him to trust her. Finally, Vyral released her hand.

"Thank you," said Leliana, tenderly rubbing her wrist.

"Are you a Grey Warden?"

The question must have been funny, for she laughed softly before answering. "Me? No, no, Aedan and Alistair are the Grey Wardens. What made you think I was?"

Vyral avoided the question. "Then why do you accompany them?"

"There is a Blight happening, isn't there. I couldn't just sit around and do nothing."

Vyral frowned. "Why? Why can't you just sit around?"

A smile formed on the bard's face. "Are you upset because you failed to kill me?"

Again, Vyral avoided the question. "Why did you save me? It would have been easier for you and your friends to just leave to die."

"You ask an awful lot of questions for someone who was sent to murder me," Leliana joked playfully, brushing a lock of red hair from her eyes. "May I know your name?"

"Vyral," he answered hesitantly. Her humour did little to impress Vyral, but he knew from the tone of her voice she did not want to tell him. He attempted to get up but Leliana held him back, pressing him back down.

"No, you need to heal. I'll sleep outside, by the fire," insisted Leliana. Vyral opened his mouth to object, but Leliana held a finger to his lips. "No arguing," she warned and Vyral fell silent.

Leliana grabbed a pillow and cloak, bid him goodnight and disappeared behind the fluttering of the tent's flap. Vyral shifted into a more comfortable position and fell into a dreamless slumber.

Donning his dark-coloured tunic and hood-robe, Vyral lifted the tent's flap and stepped out, bracing the morning chill. An early dawn mist surrounded the campsite, obscuring all vision past the trees bordering the camp. Leliana lay curled up under her cloak by the burned-out campfire, still asleep. Another fire was build on the far side of the camp, half encircled by high-rising ground and covered by cliff-rooting trees. Vyral could not see who it was, but did not particularly care.

"That's where the Witch of the Wilds dwells."

Vyral nearly jumped, surprised that he had not heard the man coming. It was the one with short brown hair, Alistair if he was not mistaken. "The Witch of the Wilds?" asked Vyral, unable to believe his words. Of the Korcari Wilds? The Flemeth of legends?"

Alistair nearly burst into laughter, sniggering uncontrollably at Vyral's reaction. "Sorry to disappoint you but no, that is not Flemeth, but Morrigan is her daughter though. Equally part nasty and crazy, I'm afraid."

Vyral's expression relaxed somewhat. "Sound like you don't care much for her, maybe it's because she is an apostate and you are a templar?"

Alistair's eyes widen. "Wait a minute, how did you know I was—?"

"The way to talk about her is clear enough, but mostly because your shield bares the templar's insignia."

"Oh, right," chuckled Alistair sheepishly. "I forgot about that."

Vyral sighed. "Why are we even talking?"

"Well, it would be rude not getting to know your fellow companion. You do know you're not allowed leave, right?"

"Excuse me?" flared Vyral, his voice rising.

Alistair chuckled nervously. "You see, the only reason Aedan spared your life was because Leliana told him that you could be of use to us, to help us against the Blight."

"So I am suppose to be tied to a promise I did not even agree upon?"

"You were out cold when the deal was struck," Alistair pointed out.

Vyral grumbled in frustration, clenching his fist so tightly they began to tremble. Somehow the bard knew, she knew about his Order's obligations and rules. _Shameful and disgraced, if a target shows mercy upon the assassin, allowing him or her to escape the claws of death, the assassin must return the favour by completing a single order, any order the target wishes as long as the assassin is allowed to live. _The words kept playing inside his head, louder and louder. A rule of decades ago, forgotten by all except for a few masters of the Order and people of the trade. _She is no mere storyteller, this Leliana. A minstrel and well-informed spy, an Orlesian bard, _concluded Vyral.

"Erm, hello? Are you okay?"

Vyral blinked, his attention returning to the templar. "I'm fine, and since we are forced to travel together, it is only fitting that I introduce myself. I'm Vyral."

"Pleasure. I am Alistair, templar and one of the last living Grey Wardens in Ferelden. Not to mention a royal bastard."

"No doubt you would be one even if you were not the child of Maric."

Alistair turned, his expression vile as he saw the witch, Morrigan approached them. "I knew I felt something cold and evil awakening from its slumber."

Morrigan glared at the templar, but did not retort. Instead, her eyes fell on Vyral. "So you are the assassin sent to kill our annoying little songbird. If I had known your intention, I might have allowed your arrow meet its target."

Vyral opened his mouth, but someone else replied. "Oh Morrigan, I'm sure you did not mean that," said Leliana as she rose into a sitting position, going through her skewed crimson hair with both hands. "Ugh, my hair is such a mess."

Morrigan shrugged. "Believe what you will."

"Such delightful company you are," mocked Alistair, directing his sarcasm towards Morrigan. "It's so wonderful to know the real Morrigan."

The witch's eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a fine thin line. Alistair held his glare, only blinking when Aedan appeared between them. "Come now, it's a wee bit early in the day to be at each other's throats. We leave for the Tower in ten"


	4. Chapter 3 Lake Calenhad

A/N - I apologies for the delay. Time is rather spare for me these days but I could finally squeeze a chapter out of me. A big thank you to the one's who fav'ed my story, I will try to update as soon as possible. Anyhow, enjoy this chapter.

—

Chapter 3 - Lake Calenhad

"Ah, the Circle Tower. It actually looks rather beautiful under the moonlight, if you're not a renegade mage or wanted apostate that is."

Morrigan snorted. "Beautiful it may be for you, Alistair, but not everyone shares your opinion, which I doubt happens very often."

"Oh, you have a different insight? Please, do share," pleaded Alistair in a sarcastic tone.

"To me, its an ugly, tall prison on an island in the middle of a vast lake, where people with magic are suppressed of their maximum potential by annoying, tyrannic templars."

Alistair sniggered. "You almost sound like an abomination—oh wait. You are one, aren't you?"

Vyral watched, with slight amusement, as the witch whacked Alistair on the buttocks with the end of her staff, sending the templar stumbling forward. The two seem to loath each other so much, therefore it surprised Vyral they fought well together, both constantly looking out for one another. It just seemed odd for the assassin, not that any other things were normal.

He was vaguely aware of Leliana falling in step beside him, her lips parted slightly. He curiously wondered what the bard had to say this time. "I wonder how the view from the top must be like? It must be _spectacular_," she said, her voice dreamlike at the end. "Do you know the story behind the tower, Vyral?"

"I know about Kinloch Hold. Spare me the bedtime stories, bard."

Leliana's expression held both irritation and amazement. "They taught you well it seems, though it would be appreciated if you called me by my given name."

Repressing the urge to roll his eyes, Vyral sighed. "Very well...Leliana."

"See, that wasn't so hard now, was it?"

This time, Vyral rolled his eyes. "No, it was not."

—

"'No one's allowed across the lake', orders straight from Knight-Commander Greagoir." _The templar's words would have sounded more intimidating if it was written on paper_, thought Vyral.

Aedan shook his head frustratingly. "What do you not understand from 'I am a Grey Warden'? The Circle of Magi are obliged to aid us during a Blight."

"Anyone can easily proclaim themselves as Grey Wardens, Mister, although not many would after Ostagar. Prove to me that you are a Warden, then I might consider allowing you through."

From the folds of his cloak, Aedan produced one of the several treaties stamped with the seal of the Grey Wardens. He showed it to the templar, almost shoving it into his face. "There, a Grey Warden treaty with the seal of the Grey Wardens. Is this enough prove for you?"

The templar's eyes widened in a mock expression. "Oh, a Grey Warden treaty. So you're suppose to be one of them. Well, I've got some papers too! They say I am the Queen of Antiva! What do you have to say to that?"

"How very eloquent," Morrigan commented.

Beside him, Leliana giggled but Vyral failed to see the humour in this. The templar was wasting their time and his patience, it would be easier to just thrust a blade through his neck. Instinctively, Vyral's hand shot towards the dagger at his side but Leliana caught his wrist, warning him with a stern, silent stare.

The conversation at the front had continued and the templar was now pointing an armoured finger in Leliana's direction. "That redhead at the back...she doesn't need to go the tower, does she? Because it gets a little lonely out here sometimes and you know, you could leave her with me—"

"What?" blurted Leliana. "Er...no. I'm sorry, I'm...a poetess! And I am not interested in anything you have to offer."

"I've never met a poetess. The other men sometimes tells stories about them...when the knight-commander isn't around, of course. He doesn't abide that sort of talk."

Leliana considered this and smiled, an idea forming in her head. "What is your name?"

"Ca...Carroll, miss."

"Well, Carroll, the stories sheltered templars tell will pale in comparison to mine. Would you like to hear my tales of debauchery and excess?" said Leliana, her voice was of a seductive mistress.

The templar's cheek blushed a cherry red. "Y-Yes...please?"

"I'm sure we could talk on that long, dull boat-ride across the lake, yes?"

"Er...yes, definitely. Are we going now?"

Leliana nodded. "That will be most appreciated."

Hastily, the templar rushed towards the end of the pier, untying the rope that anchored the small, wooden boat. "Not all problems need to be solved with violence," Leliana whispered to Vyral as she passed him. He followed silently.

—

Two back-and-forth trips across Lake Calenhad and everyone was ferried to the other side. Vyral took the second boat with Sten and Leliana, which made for quite an uncomfortable journey. The qunari's large physique squashed Vyral, forcing him against the boat's wooden side and nearly tipping him overboard. Leliana sat upfront with the templar Carroll and as promised, told him one of her tales. With vivid and detailed explanations, the bard described that one night when she was hired by a group of Orlesian noblewomen—for entertainment purposes.

Thankfully, the boat glided smoothly and quickly, powered by magic no doubt. Aedan, Alistair and Morrigan were waiting on the Tower's pier and judging by the looks on their faces, there was bad news.

"T'was bound to happen someday. It is only human to desire freedom," Vyral overheard Morrigan saying as the boat docked next to the pier.

"And by allowing demons to possess your soul really grants you that sense of independence. Morrigan, that is the dumbest thing you have said so far," said Alistair.

The witch frowned. "I did not say that their execution was the correct one. I merely stated the reason to it."

Vyral stepped onto the pier, grateful to have solid land back under his feet. Leliana jumped after him and quirked a confusing brow. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it," said Carroll sheepishly. "The Tower is overrun by abominations."


End file.
